


Gloves

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: Boutique [1]
Category: Arsène Lupin - Maurice Leblanc
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Gentleman thief!Arsène, Glove Kink, Novel!Arsène, Praise Kink, Smut, noblewoman!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: They say that beauty is only skin deep.Arsène is inclined to prove to you that beauty goes beyond one’s physical appearance.He may be in for a few surprises courtesy ofyou, his beloved.





	Gloves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Novacorgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novacorgi/gifts).

> _Praise kink has been unlocked for the gentleman thief himself: Arsène Lupin!_
> 
> This is my first time writing in this manner; I do hope it’s acceptable.
> 
> Do enjoy my comeback, dears~! Cheers to you all!

_How long have I been here? Moreover, how long has _he _been here?_

Such are the thoughts that cross your mind—and for a moment and only a moment, you think that it’s funny that you could think at all—as you blink, slowly, your eyelashes fluttering over the skin of your cheekbones.

Honestly, you can’t be bothered to care, to _truly_ give a damn about the time, whether it was daylight or well into the evening.

To you, time may as well not exist. Seconds, minutes, hours, _days—_it all became utterly meaningless to you.

But nothing robs you of caring about whatever it is that is occurring outside the room—_your _room, to be precise—on your family’s lavish estate more than the feeling of leather caressing your skin slowly, oh so slowly.

“What a lovely _mademoiselle_ you are…”

You perk up at the voice that addresses you—and it is a man’s voice, it is without a doubt a male that is speaking to you.

Following the voice hissing sugarcoated praise in your ear is the feeling of the leather palm, the gloved fingers trailing down your collarbone, tracing the bumps before pausing to ghost over the skin of your throat.

“I think you are _quite _enchanting under the moonlight this evening, my dear.”

The leather fingers that stroke your bare skin dance across the skin of your throat before they reach back, curling over the nape of your neck. You feel those very same gloved digits gently entangle through your hair, and you feel a shiver running its delightful course through your veins, prickling all five of your senses with a sharp dose of awareness.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he pulls you into his chest as his free hand is raised, reaching for and taking your hand in his.

“I’m… _enchanting_?” you ask, doe-like eyes shining.

“Yes.”

That word… That single word that sounds so marvellous, so flattering as it leaves the lips of the gentleman thief himself: Arsène Lupin.

If that isn’t bad enough, it doesn’t help the steadfast rate of your heart—pounding in your breast, fluttering like a songbird’s wings—nor does it help your blushing bride expression from faltering. It drives a bit _too _close to home for you, piercing your heart. You feel it in the way your breathing hitches; you feel it in the heat travelling up from your neck, burning your cheeks with a rosy hue.

You take a moment to appreciate the pace he’s setting, to quietly enjoy the contrast between his leather-covered palm and fingers and your bare hand; it befits his status as a gentleman thief, a man who sticks to his word.

“If I may say so, I believe your allure surpasses the beauty of the night sky, _ma chère__.”_

Unconsciously, you feel a purr of approval tickling the back of your throat, looking up at the dark-haired man hovering above you; you _love _hearing your beloved thief showering you in French _and _affection.

You will gladly admit to it being a guilty pleasure you have.

The fact that he does so while holding you so closely, cooing sweet nothings in your ear is merely the icing on the cake. Your irises, dark with desire, meet his sharp-eyed stare, watching as a grin curls the corner of his lips.

You can’t help but notice how beautiful his tooth-filled smile is in the dark, how _angelic_ he looks as a play of light and shadow shine down on your bare forms.

“You’re such a good boy, Arsène. _My _good boy.”

The words leave your smiling lips before you can stop yourself, before you can even _think _to stop yourself from asking if it’s a good idea to address him in such a manner.

Silence follows your remark, and you feel a sudden tension possessing your lover.

“…I beg your pardon?”

Initially, you’re confused and understandably so. You feel the emotion rising in your chest, slowly, before it bursts and spreads the poison of bewilderment throughout your body; you tilt your head to the side, blinking curiously.

“Have I… Have I upset you, _mon amour_?”

The movement against your hips, his pelvis rutting to meet yours oh so slowly is your only response; that, and the laboured breathing that leaves him is all that break his silence.

You don’t know whether he’s toying with you or restraining himself as he promised you he would, but the sudden switch from how vocal he usually is in bed to a sullen stare is, in fact, quite worrying to you.

Puzzled, your teeth worry the flesh of your bottom lip; you blink, slowly, as you raise a hand. Soon, five fingers and a palm rest on Arsène’s face, the palm lightly cupping the curve of his jaw. The difference between your warm skin and the thief’s sweating, lightly flushed cheek doesn’t go unnoticed by you—nor does the way his brows softly pinch the slant of his eyes. There is tension in his jaw, too—you see it in the way it sets so strongly, it’s as though he’s biting back unimaginable words that shouldn’t be uttered in a lady’s presence.

“If… If what I said was… unladylike of me, I apologize.”

Your darling doesn’t respond and the lack of a response from him is, admittedly, disheartening.

_Maybe I did disturb him by saying that? It was certainly out of the blue, after all._

And the mere _thought _of making your sweetheart, Arsène Lupin, feel uncomfortable about anything broke your heart a little.

You polish off your statement by leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a slow, affectionate kiss. Your eyes insist on peering into his warm onyx irises, admiring how the dim luminescence of the moon’s glare gave them a beautiful shimmer. For a moment and only a moment, the image of obsidian jewels is mentally conjured, but you dismiss the thought no sooner does it come. No matter the amount _or _the rarity of the jewels, no matter how much they shined, you know the sight of such a display—however beautiful as it may be—will pale in comparison to the stare of your beloved thief.

“I’m sorry, my love. My wonderful gentleman… You know I would never wish to demean you.”

Gently, he eases you back onto the bed, ignoring the covers shifting as your back presses against them, although you feel gratitude how the sheets cool your sweating back, you feel the soft warmth of Arsène’s lips pressing to yours.

For a few short and wonderful moments, you believe him to be content to stay like this. Holding you, stealing one kiss after another from you, and keeping you close to him. You are so close that you swear you feel his beating heart, pumping in perfected sync with yours.

Finally, _finally_, Arsène speaks.

“No, my dear. You have not troubled me. Please do not fret.”

You blink slowly, shining irises forever locking with his as you voice the question bouncing in your head.

“Are you quite sure? Your silence worried me, darling…”

He kisses you again. It’s not at all like how he usually kisses you; it’s swift, firm, and _demanding _in a sense. It’s as though he wishes to literally _kiss_ your unvoiced fretting away—and for all you know, that may very well be his intention.

However, a soft and familiar chuckle results in a wave of calm washing over you. You ride the silent serenity, finally returning the kisses he gave to you. You cling to him for all you’re worth, wrapping your free hand—and the associating arm—over his shoulders, bringing him as close as you possibly can and physically pull him into you.

Silently, you’re incredibly relieved that Arsène allows you to do such a thing; the soft laugh that delves past your lips and echos in the warm, wet space between your cheeks does nothing but fill you with elation.

“I admit that it was quite unexpected. You truly _are _full of surprises, my lady.”

For what seems like _hours_ but is no longer than a minute or two, there are no other sounds other than the slow, meticulous creaking of the bed. There is nothing but the sound of skin lightly smacking against skin; there is nothing but the scent of sweat lingering in the dimly lit darkness of the room. There are no noises other than your soft groans, sighs, and calls of your lover’s name that lure him in like a siren. There is nothing but Arsène holding you, cradling you as if you are a newborn baby.

There is nothing but the notorious gentleman thief cooing sweetly in your ear, skimming your flushed and sweating body with a gloved palm and five leather-covered fingers.

“A beautiful sight for this gentleman…”

You lose yourself in his voice and in the affectionate dance of kisses, breathing a lustful sigh as you arch your back, blinking back tears as Arsène’s lips zero in on the juncture of your neck, exactly where your shoulder and throat meet.

_As though I would let a man other than you see me like _this_, Arsène!_

You bite back the rather unladylike thought, settling for allowing your teeth to worry on your bottom lip. You feel the plump flesh contrast with the blunt edges of your pearly whites—worse, you feel your body tensing up as the all too familiar suction noise fills the air that reeks of sweat and the stench of sex.

“Do you have anything you wish for me to know, my lovely rose?”

Silently, you can’t help but seethe for a moment; you can’t help but notice the lighthearted note of teasing that laces his voice.

Suddenly, you are reminded of how he was _before_ you and he became lovers, and it infuriates you that he would revert to such a state and address you in such a manner, albeit briefly.

_The_ audacity_ of this man! _you silently scream, pausing as a shiver possesses your shoulders.

You can practically _feel _a love bite blooming to life on your neck.

But even so…

You can’t help but love him more.

You can’t help but be reminded of _why_ you fell for him to start with.

You can’t help but lean back and look him fully in the face as you state your wishes.

“I want you to be my good boy and fill me up.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am _such_ an evil Barista, leaving it off at a cliffhanger like _that_, aren’t I~? 
> 
> Sorry dears, but I will leave the gentleman thief’s reaction up to your imagination. I do hope you all enjoyed your Spicy Saturday treat!
> 
> Cheers and I will see you soon, my dear customers!
> 
> Also, credit goes to the amazing Krisaliachan for suggesting Reader’s end quote.


End file.
